House of Green, Tongue of Silver
by Shattersoul
Summary: Lucius has always been a influential man, but Draco seems to not have fully inherited his gift. Thus, to rectify this, he sends his son to a seminar for the children of diplomats, and other future influential people. AU, one-shot with possible continuation.


_Why do I get a feeling that I've written myself a hook for a continued story?_

 _OH and, this is a gift fic for Tiger, for the TGS forum. Merry Christmas, and have a fic about Malfoy being handed the smart ball._

* * *

 _Summer, 1991_

"Son, as you are aware, you are going to be attending Hogwarts next fall." spoke Lucius Malfoy, eyes steely as he glared down at his son. "It goes without saying, that your actions shall not only reflect upon your own appearance, but also upon the appearance of House Malfoy itself. As the heir apparent of not only House Malfoy, but House Black as well, you are in the spotlight unlike any other. It cannot be stressed enough that we are depending on you."

Draco nodded dumbly. His father had always been strict, but this was a new extreme for him.

"Although I would normally be confident with the training I have already given you, along with what I planned to teach you, it is extremely likely I will be busy for the next few months." he stated. "Instead, I have something instead to give you."

With a smooth gesture, Lucius handed his son a small, relatively plain card.

"Lord Irving's Beginner Diplomacy Seminar?" Draco read aloud.

Lucius nodded. "This seminar is among the best in Britain, if not in the world. It is a fast-track program designed to teach young diplomats, and the children of diplomats the many customs and standards required to excel in the field. My father enrolled in it, when I was a child, as was he. It is a pricey expenditure, but it is worth its value thrice over."

"And I begin when?" murmured Draco.

"You begin next week. They only start the course during the Summer Solstice. And Draco?" Lucius's glare was back, full force.

"Yes, father?"

"Do **not** embarrass me. The instructor is not only an old family friend, but also a **personal** one. That man has taught our family absolutely everything we know."

Draco gulped slightly, as he stared down at the card.

"Should you excel..." began Lucius, before he cleared his throat, " **When** you excel, you shall be enrolled for the Advanced Seminar next summer, and the Greater Seminar the summer after that. You will pick up enough to manage the House properly, and I fully expect it to lead you to great things."

What once was mere unease was now palpable terror from Draco. Failure was not an option. Still, he forced it down, and responded to his superior.

"Yes Father. I won't let you down, Father."

* * *

"The most important thing to remember," stressed Irving, "Is that a first impression is everything! That impression will color other's perceptions of you. Thus, it is important to appear to be polite to each, and every person you encounter, at least until they prove that they are indeed impossible to reason with."

In the crowd, a student Draco's age blurted out, "But what about Mudbloods?"

The room deadened to absolute silence, as Irving glanced towards the interruption, eyebrow raised.

Only for Irving to throw his head back in laughter. "Tell me, what makes Mudbloods so inferior?"

The child, seeing his opportunity, answered. "Because they're like animals!"

"And tell me this: even if they are animals, do you not still see them as a danger?" With no response, the diplomat continued. "By all means, they are foolish and uncultured, but even the most unintelligent Mudblood can, in a corner, bite back. After all, they do not have a noble house to dishonor, nor do they even need to stay in the Wizarding World. I have met Mudbloods, that when pushed, had given up their magic entirely to hunt down someone who had turned against them."

The entire room balked in terror. Give up their magic?

"Wizards, no matter the blood, are vindictive, vengeful creatures. It's best not to invite excessive ire, lest you find yourself an unstoppable foe. _Especially_ from those untrained to handle their anger correctly."

Irving clapped his hands once, and in front of every participant, two sheets of paper appeared.

"In front of each of you, are two sheets. One contains the information of a Mudblooded, idiotic, and altogether disagreeable wizard. You are to find a way to list at least three applicable compliments to the being. If you are able to do so, then you are able to be agreeable to anyone of greater blood as well."

Draco Malfoy glanced down at the sheet in confusion. He couldn't imagine giving up his magic; to even consider so was a barbarism worthy of being thrown from his house. But to do so in an act of vengeance...

He shook his head. This was a family friend. He would succeed, if not for his own purposes, but for the approval of his father.

* * *

"Draco, I am proud." stated Lucius, with an even tone.

Draco nodded his head back. It had taken serious effort, but he had exceeded the scores of a majority of his classmates. It had, at times felt like an aberration to do some of the exercises, but it had been a humbling experience.

After all, the story of a group of Wizards who we killed by a group of angry Mudbloods with nought more than a poisoned potion knife, an old boot, and an industrial wood chipper in vengeance for the massacre of one of their families tended to stick with someone.

He could see why these seminars were so effective.

"We will be headed into Diagon Alley next Wednesday. I have my own appointment that day, but I believe you will be more than capable of acquiring your school robes, potion supplies, and other materials at your own behest."

Draco nodded. "Yes Father."

* * *

Draco winced as the pin narrowly missed his flesh.

Being fitted for robes was never a comfortable experience: knowing how to carry one's self was by far the greatest feat, but knowing how to dress was nearly as important.

Thus, dressing in well-fitted clothing was a must.

"My dear, we should be halfway done." murmured the witch.

There was a small disturbance from the inside of the shop, before Madam Malkin lead in another customer, a dark-haired boy about Draco's age, to the stool beside him.

The kid stared at him for a second or two.

"Hello. Hogwarts, too?" stated Draco, mostly to get the conversation going. After all, the witches were either not talkative at all, or simply _far_ too talkative.

There was a bit of murmuring from the boy, before he spoke back, nearly a full second later, "Yes."

Perhaps he was a bit slow, then. Oh well, anything worked to help kill some of the boredom here.

"Did you see yesterday's Quidditch game?" he ventured, hoping to strike pay dirt.

The boy stared back at him, before shakily responding, "What's Quidditch?"

It took all of Draco's self-control not to snap back. Not know what Quidditch was? What sort of heathen was he dealing with?

"It's a very popular sport." he replied, after mentally counting to six in his head. "Father says that it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, but honestly, it's their own faults if they miss my talent."

Again the damnable blank stare returned.

Sighing quietly, Draco reached out an olive branch. "Play any other sports?"

If he said a muggle sport, he'd just smile and nod. From what little research he had done on muggle sports, they often involved muggles running into one another at high velocity. Even if it was barbaric, there was something _satisfying_ about reading of the occasional crippling impact or absolute bloody mess some of the players were reduced to.

Maybe he'd be able to get a story out of this boy.

"No, not much of a sports person. By the way, what is your name?"

"Draco Malfoy." stated the blonde, chest puffed out involuntarily.

"Harry Potter."

Malfoy smirked slightly. Bingo.

"You know, you're quite famous in these parts."

Stare.

And then Draco realized that _Harry Potter_ , the Boy-Who-Lived was an absolute heathen when it came to Quidditch. This would not do.

"Say," ventured Draco, "Why don't I get you a manual for Quidditch? After all, the sport is one of the biggest things in this Wizarding world."

Potter nodded back at him, although it was slightly restricted by the many pins.

"That'd be great, thanks."

* * *

The train was a mess, as it always was. Unwashed masses darted from corridor to corridor, occasionally tripping over themselves and others.

Draco stepped over a fallen first-year, who had somehow managed to spin themselves around until they vomited, and then had passed out a mere foot away from the mess.

This was why he hated public transportation.

Still, here he was, on the train to Hogwarts.

Crabbe and Goyle were flanking him, as they were wont to do. Still, he had heard that Potter had boarded the train, and hopefully he'd be better suited for conversation now, rather than he was earlier this fall.

He slowly made his way to the front of Potter's cabin. He straightened his tie, wiped the dust off of his sleeves (There wasn't any, but he risked it not), and threw open the door with a flourish.

"Oh, hey Malfoy." acknowledged Potter from within.

To Potter's left, was the Longbottom heir, to his right, some witch he didn't recognise.

There was also a...

Ugh. Weasley. Oh well, he could pretend he didn't know it.

"Hello Potter. Did the manual help?" stated Draco, as he stepped inside, careful not to step in anything Weasley might've left behind.

"It was brilliant, thanks." returned the raven-haired boy.

Draco could see the Weasley starting to simmer and nearly reach boil. This'd be good.

"Hello, Longbottom. Good to see you again." he nodded to the boy. "I hope things have calmed down for you."

"Uh... Thanks, Malfoy." stuttered Longbottom.

"You two _know_ him?" shouted the Weasley.

"Yeah, he gave me the manual on Quidditch. We were getting robes fitted together." answered Potter.

"He's a cousin." stated Longbottom.

Seeing his chance, Draco turned to the red-headed reject. "I don't believe we've met. Hello, my name is Draco Malfoy. The Muggleborn students rarely know this, of course."

It brought warmth to the depths of his heart to watch the redhead nearly explode.

"YOU DAMN BLOODY WELL KNOW WHO I AM YOU BLOODY WANKER!" screamed the child.

Potter, Longbottom, and the witch suddenly busy staring at the boy in horror. Oh, this'd be fun.

"You've never told me your name! How on earth was I supposed to know?" he glibbed, stringing the poor buffoon along.

He was hoping he'd neither grin nor laugh. If he did, then he'd ruin everything.

"YOU KNOW WHO I AM!" screamed the redhead.

"But you've never told me your name. What are you, some sort of famous person who everyone must know?" Draco nodded sagely, careful to keep his breathing even.

The redhead tried and failed to commit suicide through force of will alone. Unfortunately, he was not successful.

Seeing that now would be the time to leave it to stew, he turned to the other witch.

"Hello, what is your name?"

"Hermione Granger."

A muggleborn, then. Well, hopefully it'd take offence towards Weasley, rather than him. Still, feigning interest was usually a safe bet.

"Oh, and what do your parents do?"

"They're dentists."

"And what do dentists do?"

* * *

By the time Draco was able to flee the cabin, he had learned much. Many things he wished he did not need to know.

Potter was a brave, brave man, sitting beside a ticking time bomb such as that. To drill _into_ a living person's mouth? To physically _yank_ teeth out of them?

His stomach had nearly attempted to flee his body as the morbid, extremely detailed descriptions dragged on.

Poor Crabbe, being of weak constitution, had fled to a different cabin to vomit out one of the windows. He felt like joining the boy. He knew the Weasley had fled first, though.

He couldn't imagine the cruelty of the Muggles, nor could he imagine the horrors they would inflict upon him should he make an enemy.

He froze.

What if he had mis-stepped? What unspeakable horrors could he have inflicted upon himself, had he made an enemy such as that?

He shuddered. It was a horrifying thing to imagine, being forcibly strapped down and _drilled_ into.

Still, he had made a good impression, and that was all that he needed to do.

After all, first impressions were everything. Still, he already had some influence over _Harry Potter_ , which would only pay itself off in the long run.

Thus, as he leaned back, arms flush against the cabin wall as the countryside zoomed past, he couldn't help but smirk.

"Look out, Hogwarts." he smirked, "A new Malfoy is coming to town."


End file.
